Stormdragon A Paladin's Requiem
by Kurama0900
Summary: A Paladin by the name of Xandar Stormdragon, a holy Knight of the Light, has been through much in his life- War, love lost, and retribution- until he finds that the only thing he’s fought against is the only thing that will save him.
1. Introduction: Foreshadow

A field of bodies- death, destruction, carnage, and blood- was all that stood before the Light-hearted Paladin. He grimaced, ran his hand on the pommel of his sword, a blood-soaked blade sheathed only in a loop around his waist. His great, golden hair flowed as the winds swept past him; he pursed his lips grimly as he stared into the corpse-ridden field.

His armor- a gleaming, golden collection of plate- was the only brightness that could be seen for miles, as if it were blessed as the only source of Light in the area. His boots clatter against the rocks and stones beneath him, crushing skulls as he moved through the area.

No sound. No life. No color around him, himself being the only sign of coloration.

He yelled, but to no avail. He couldn't even hear himself. It was as if death had taken over his voice, as well as the place he were standing in.

The Paladin then felt a coldness that he had never felt before. His surroundings, as he saw with his very eyes, turned into ice. Snowfall. Then the abrupt clinking of metal approaching.

The Paladin turned and stared into the face of evil. In all his glory, his most hated enemy was standing before him, grinning madly through his helmet, his azure-hilted blade sheathed at his side. Flowing, silver hair of evil escaped the bottom of the metal, dark bucket.

Again, no sound. The Paladin only knew that his time had come. The road he had taken through his life was to end here. The dark, armored monster from beyond had unsheathed his blade and raised it high above his head, sneered. The ringing of the blade being brought down was the last thing that was heard through the Paladin's ears.

Then darkness.


	2. Chapter 1: Three Weeks Before

Hymns of prayer sounded through the great Cathedral of Light

Hymns of prayer sounded through the great Cathedral of Light. It was a daily mass, the halls of the magnificent structure filled to the brim with occupants- all those who are faithful to the Light.

The aisles were lined with armored Knights, with attendees to the sides- all of them citizens of Stormwind. The Knights were armed with only a shield, but no weapon to aid them in battle; to truly keep the Cathedral a sacred place, weapons must not be worn while inside. The Knights themselves wore silvery-ornate armor, wearing the proud crest of the Stormwind Kingdom- the Lion's Glory.

The Archbishop gave his sermon as it was any other day. Silently did the attendants give their prayers; to those they have lost, for their misfortunes, and for some, the battles they will fight in the future.

At the end of the sermon, everyone in the Cathedral slowly filed out. The armored Knights now stood on the steps to the building, still no weapons. Casually and formally clothed men and women conversed as they moved out, talking of the day to come. However, out of the crowd, several armored men could easily be pointed out.

These men wore bright, golden armor, with the crest of a proud, blue eagle on their tabard. Unlike the Knights, who were ordered to keep their weapons away, these men held massive war hammers slung around their backs. They gave off an aura that seemed to heal- no, **mend**- the area around them. Firm believers of the Holy Light, they were.

They were Paladins. What remained of their order from the Third War.

The golden-locked Paladin looked around, a brisk smirk across his face. His narrow, dark eyes scanned the crowds that filtered out of the massive Cathedral. At his side was a darker-haired, wiry man that kept his hair back in a ponytail, and on the other side was a black-haired young man that pulled his hair back in a ponytail as well.

The brown-haired Paladin sighed, "So many in one day. The damn, old fool's advertising finally came through."

The black-haired man glared at the other, "Watch your mouth, Matahis. The Archbishop means well."

"Oh, I'm sure he does, Vlademar," Matahis grinned. His hand stayed at the pommel of his blade- an extra weapon he kept, in case his war hammer proved too slow. Matahis nudged at the Paladin at the head, "What do you think, Xandar?"

Xandar could only grunt, gesturing over his shoulder as he does so.

"So then," Matahis brought up his helm and slid it on, "Pub?"

Vlademar nodded and let out a sharp whistle, followed by Matahis and then Xandar. Three golden-aura'd steeds galloped toward the trio, as if they had hands guiding them towards the Paladins. Matahis took his reigns and leapt over the saddle, settling himself in it.

"Let's go," Matahis reigned back on his mount and rode off. Xandar smirked, "Bastard's always runnin' off." He pulled back on his reigns as well, and rides off. Vlademar soon follows behind.


End file.
